


Her Worldly Delights

by WickedWiles



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood Spoilers, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, I Don't Even Know, Porn with Feelings, Probably so many tags I could add I can't even think of them all, Romance, Smut, So much flirting, The end result of a slow burn, Warrior of Light is an awful tease, What Have I Done, canon until it's not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-01-24 10:51:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWiles/pseuds/WickedWiles
Summary: Assorted scenes from the tale of Vieryne Everhana, passionate and temperamental Warrior of Light, most particularly her relationship with a certain Elezen man with eyes that just won't be denied.I'm not gonna lie, there's going to be a lot of smut. But also character moments and feelings and plot and all that good stuff. Whee!
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light
Comments: 19
Kudos: 107





	1. Coming to Terms

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. So this is quite literally my first foray into the world of fanfiction. And wouldn't you know, of course it's going to be smut. Also my first foray into writing that sort of thing, so double yay.
> 
> I played FFXIV about two years ago, and then stopped for various reasons. In the past couple months, I picked it back up again, and hot damn, was I floored when I got to the next cutscene with Aymeric. Just...damn.
> 
> Started imagining some behind the scenes, 'what happens after the cutscene' stuff with my Warrior of Light, and...well, this is what you get.
> 
> I wrote and rewrote this first bit multiple times; I was going to go through the entire course of Heavensward and drag that burn out, but in the end I was never happy with it, so...jumping in at the end. Probably will have flashbacks and whatnot at times to provide some insight on how it developed.
> 
> I dunno what I'm rambling on about at this point, so...without further ado!
> 
> Each **** marks a shift in character perspective.
> 
> Timeframe for the start of this chapter would be after the MSQ 'An Ending to Mark a New Beginning'.

Y’shtola could see the glow of her aether, even before she opened the door out onto the balcony. The Warrior of Light ever burned like a beacon, and though her flame was somewhat subdued at the moment, it was no less powerful.

Vieryne turned her head only slightly to acknowledge the Miqo’te’s arrival, her gaze tilted upwards towards the sky.

“’Tis a beautiful night.” The unnatural, shifting color of the heavens above Mor Dhona gave no lie to her words, but the Warrior just huffed in response.

“You did not seek me out to chat about the weather.”

“Perhaps because it is not the weather _here_ that has your attention.” She watched carefully as the aether moved in reaction to her words. “Indeed, I would wager your mind wanders in climes a good deal colder.”

A bright flare was quickly reined in, the resulting light even more restrained than before. Vieryne was silent.

“It seems like an age, does it not? In spite of having been there but a few weeks ago. From what I hear, Ishgard is well on her way to meet her new future. As are we.”

“What is your purpose here, Y’shtola?” The woman’s tone was slightly annoyed, and more than a bit wary.

She shrugged. “You seemed troubled, my friend. And given the…unresolved business there, it seems logical that is where your thoughts would wander.”

Vieryne sighed heavily. “Our business _is_ finished there. Nidhogg’s shade laid to rest…peace forged, resistance notwithstanding. A new government established. They have no further need of the Scions at this time.”

“Did I speak aught of the Scions?” Her tone was mild, but the sharp reaction told her the words hit home.

“…that was also resolved.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “By ‘resolved’, do you mean the manner in which you suddenly distanced yourself from a certain individual, to the extent circumstances would permit? And why you have been nothing short of an absolute terror to anyone who happens to cross your path since? That would not seem much of a resolution to me.”

Vieryne was silent for a long time. When she finally spoke again, her aether danced and flickered, like a flame desperately trying to hold out against strong winds.

“Resolved enough. What would it have accomplished? Should I have confessed, asked him to wait there, pining for me as I go off to face gods knows what? Never knowing when I shall return, _if_ I return? Assuming he even harbors any inkling of the desire to do so, which despite Thancred’s teasing, I highly doubt.”

Y’shtola shook her head, bemused. “Will you ever learn to stop shouldering burdens that are not yours to carry?” She put a gentle hand on her shoulder, leaning in to touch her forehead to her friend’s. “That choice is not yours to make. It belongs to him, as it does to all of us that care for you. To attempt to deny us that is no mercy.”

The aether faltered once more, then rekindled, bright and steady, and after another long silence Vieryne laughed softly.

“I fear you may have to keep reminding me, Shtola.” She lifted her face to look up at the sky again. “But I also fear it may have come too late. As you said, it has been some weeks…I can hardly just stroll through the gates and turn everything upside down on a whim.”

“Ah, but that brings me to your earlier question, to why I sought you out. It would seem Tataru has received a missive from Ishgard; there is to be a celebration of a certain Lord Speaker’s nameday. The host has requested the honor of the Scions’ attendance, and yet it seems most of us will be otherwise engaged…” She needed no aether sight to know that she was now speaking to naught but air, as the quick footsteps followed by the telltale creak of the heavy door reported on Vieryne’s departure. She allowed herself a sly grin that persisted as she retired inside the Rising Stones, enjoying a cup of tea at a quiet table.

“Well, you certainly look pleased with yourself.” Thancred plopped unceremoniously down into the chair next to her.

“Indeed I am.” Her back was to most of the room, but her ears twitched as she heard one of the doors down the hall open and then close again, and her smile widened. “Wait for it…”

“Care to enlighten…_seven hells._”

She chuckled smugly at the whispered curse from the man as she heard the quick sound of footsteps pass by, the Warrior’s aether shining brighter than ever, and took a long sip of her tea.

“You can thank me later.”

*****

Unfortunately, in the time it took her to arrive, some of Vieryne’s previous trepidation had returned, and now, surveying the hall full of unfamiliar Ishgardian nobility and common folk alike, she had to wonder what in the seven hells she was doing. Her reception from the host had been warm enough; she barely recognized the man, though most everyone seemed to know the ‘Savior of Ishgard’.

She smiled graciously at another passing greeting as she wove through the crowd, her eyes desperately searching for the telltale flash of blue and gold. Not for the first time, her lack of a vantage point amidst the taller Elezen and Hyur irked her.

“Ah, there you are, old girl!”

The voice brought a slight smile to her lips. She turned, and the younger Fortemps son beamed at her.

“Lord Emmanellein.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I do recall we discussed you _not_ calling me that.”

“Yes, well.” He flushed a bit, laughing. She was quite sure that some of the color in his face could be attributed to the freely flowing wine the servants were distributing. “Just terribly happy to see you again! You vanished so suddenly, and with not much of a farewell at that.” He offered her his arm. “Come, you must see Father! He shall be delighted to know that you were able to attend.”

She accepted his escort, chuckling. “It is good to see that _some_ things in Ishgard remain unchanged in the face of progress, I suppose.”

He guided her through the room, chattering happily at her about gossip that she wasn’t really able to follow, until they encountered Edmont, conversing with his eldest son and an older Elezen woman Vieryne had never encountered. He smiled at their approach, and the woman gave a polite nod, murmuring indistinct gratitude before taking her leave.

“Lady Everhana. Welcome back.”

She started to bow, but to her surprise Edmont stepped forward and embraced her fondly, chuckling at her raised eyebrow.

“Is it not a father’s prerogative to greet his children thus, be they of blood or of the heart?”

“Full glad am I to receive such a welcome, good sir.” She could not help but smile, her reservations melting away in the presence of such warmth, returning his embrace.

Emmanellein leaned over to whisper to her, though it was loud enough to be anything but. “Father’s feeling somewhat sentimental about family tonight, I’m afraid…I do believe poor Artoirel's nuptials are being accelerated. Not unlike our dear commander's might be, soon enough, eh?”

She raised an eyebrow again, hoping her expression did not reflect the sudden chill that washed over her. Artoirel covered his face with his hand, while Edmont simply shook his head in resigned bemusement. Emmanellein continued, seeming not to notice any of their reactions.

“I hear tell the House of Lords is pushing for a quick engagement…marriage to bring stability to the new order and all that, you know.”

“How…intriguing.” Her voice was surprisingly steady. “The Lord Commander has a chosen lady in mind, then.”

Emmanellein giggled, most certainly well on his way past being drunk. “Oh, not at all, that is why there are so many hopefuls here tonight. But if you ask me, Ser Aymeric would not so much as notice a beautiful woman if you threw one at him. In fact, I heard just the other day-”

He was cut off with a squeak as Edmont grabbed the tip of his ear. “That is quite enough of your idle gossip.” He smiled apologetically at Vieryne. “Pray excuse me while I see to making my youngest more fit for _polite_ company.”

She stifled a laugh as the former Count dragged off a protesting Emmanellein. “As much of a handful as ever, I see.”

Artoirel smiled ruefully. “Aye, though he has improved on several fronts, not the least of which being his martial skill. You have been an inspiration to him, even in your absence. We just received word that the Lord Commander is entrusting him with our brother’s previous post at Camp Dragonhead. I pray he will rise to the occasion.”

“I am certain that he will.” She glanced over her shoulder and tried to keep her voice as noncommittal as possible. “Speaking of which…where would one find the Lord Commander in all of this?”

He shot her a knowing look; subterfuge had never been her strong point. “I am afraid I cannot say for certain, my lady. Though my brother’s description of events was rather…colorful, I do not believe he erred in his assessment of the intentions of many in attendance this eve. I would hazard a guess that Ser Aymeric is entertaining such interested parties as we speak.” He eyed her appraisingly for a moment, before looking past her. “If one wished to catch his attention, I may have an idea.”

Vieryne followed his glance towards the center of the hall, where she could see glimpses of spinning skirts and quickly moving feet. Artoirel smiled conspiratorially at her and offered his hand.

“Shall we?”

****

The first time, Aymeric thought he was hearing things, and dismissed it as wishful thinking. He was mid-sentence, greeting yet another noble of a smaller house with a daughter (or perhaps it was a niece; he was losing track at this point) they were eagerly nudging towards him, when it drifted through the music and hum of conversation again; warm laughter that sent a familiar thrill through his blood.

He paused, and the Elezen man frowned slightly.

“Is aught amiss, Lord Speaker?”

“No...forgive me. I…” There it was again. His eyes drifted in the direction of the sound; his feet were compelled to follow. “Pray excuse me.”

It was a poor exit, but that hardly mattered at the moment. He ignored several other attempts to catch his attention as he deftly maneuvered through those assembled until he found himself with the rest who lingered to watch at the edges of the dance.

It was a lively, partnered affair, one that had the participants spinning away from each other frequently, circling in small groups before twirling away in the arms of their chosen partner once more. It made for an impressive display, but he was mesmerized by just one part of it.

She spun away from her partner, and though it afforded him but a moment’s clear view, it was enough to take his breath away. Her white hair was swept up in an elegant arrangement, rather than her usual practical braid. The neck of her dress was low and broad, exposing the top of her shoulders and dipping below her collarbone to show just enough skin to scandalize the gowns of Ishgard with their high, tight collars. It was rimmed in pale golden fur, a stark contrast to her dusky grey complexion and dark, shining scales, while the fabric itself was a brilliant crimson, a color she favored often. It brought out her fiery eyes, the burning orange-gold limbal rings fading into dark, smoldering red.

The dress hugged the curve of her waist, then flared away to the sides and back, the long skirt trimmed in the same golden fur. In the front it ended in a much shorter ruffle, showing off the black pants that hugged her thighs, and more enticingly the tall black boots that ended well above her knee. Careful embellishments in red and gold added elegance to the whole ensemble, though not nearly as much as the woman that wore it.

It occurred to him that he’d never seen her in anything but full, heavy robes in her time in the city, which was understandable given the biting cold. And probably a small mercy for his self-control.

She laughed again as she was caught in her partner’s arms, and Aymeric could not help but have a moment of unkind thought for Artoirel de Fortemps, watching him smile down at her before he swept her up, easily lifting her smaller form off the ground. They spun around, and Aymeric lost sight of them amidst the rest of the dancers.

How long had it been? Not more than a moon, surely, but to the dull ache in his heart it may well have been an age.

The music came to its conclusion, and the dancers exchanged bows, starting to filter from the floor. He spied them again, Artoirel leaning close to speak quietly, her head tilted slightly up towards him, her lips curling into that self-satisfied smile he had missed so.

Not for the first time, he cursed his hesitance to speak with her privately as soon as she’d returned from Azys Lla, reluctant to burden her already troubled soul, still heavy with the loss of Ysayle and Estinien’s ensnarement by Nidhogg. Yet even when the dragon's shade lay defeated, and the dragoon rescued, she’d been conspicuously distant, only appearing when explicitly summoned, and never alone. He’d told himself they were both simply occupied with the frenzy of events surrounding the affairs of reformation, but the truth was evident in the declined dinner invitation once everything had settled.

Her sudden reappearance set the spark of his hope aflame again, despite the somewhat troubling closeness to Artoirel. He was not sure what to make of it all, but he would not allow her to slip away again without an answer, for good or ill.

****

“It seems our quarry has risen to the challenge.”

Vieryne glanced up at Artoirel, and she could see the gleam of golden armor against blue and black out of the corner of her eye. “Ever the master strategist,” she smiled. “And an exceptional partner…who seems to have garnered some well-deserved attention.” She raised an eyebrow at several nearby ladies who were throwing them furtive glances and whispering. He flushed slightly, though he did not look displeased.

“It would be dishonest to claim I did not anticipate the opportunity to make an impression of mine own. Though to be able to do so in service to my lovely sister-in-arms is reward enough in itself.” He cocked his head to the side as music drifted over the crowd once more. “Ah…he would issue a counter to our display, it seems.”

An interested murmur ran through the crowd as eager participants flocked back towards the floor. A quick glance found Aymeric among them, confidently taking his place as he returned from a quiet conference with the musicians in the corner of the room.

“You are unfamiliar with the _danse guerre_, my lady?” Artoirel offered his hand again, though as they hadn’t left the floor to begin with, they had but to shift slightly to join the arrangement that was forming. “An old tradition of Ishgard, one I think you will find to your liking. A competition of sorts, a test of one’s skill and awareness. Simply put, do not find yourself unpartnered when the music shifts…though I think that unlikely.”

She could feel the intensity of Aymeric’s gaze even from this distance, and warmth blossomed under her skin in response. Artoirel chuckled and brushed a kiss to the back of her hand just before the dancers began to move.

“Good hunting, sister.”

Vieryne could definitely see where such a dance would be considered a test of skill; the tempo started out mild but was quickly shifting towards a livelier pace with each change. Not only did one have to adjust quickly to the changing tune, but also keep an awareness of all the other dancers in the mix, as well as judging the capabilities of potential partners in preparation for the next shift. It was not unlike the ever-changing chaos of the battlefield, and she strongly suspected the origins of this particular tradition to be mired in the same martial history that touched all parts of Ishgard.

It was an exhilarating experience nonetheless, and one for which she was well-suited. Her first few partners were chosen at random, but she could feel his eyes still upon her as more and more dancers retired from the floor, and it sent a slight thrill through her to know _she_ was the one being hunted now.

She saw a hand reaching for hers as the notes heralded another change, but before their fingers touched, a strong grip wrapped around her other hand, spinning her into a tight embrace. Looking up through her lashes, her breath caught in her throat for a moment, and she was glad of his confident movement that kept her feet from faltering.

“Lady Everhana.”

“Lord Speaker.” She could not help herself; her mouth curved into a teasing smirk as she adjusted her hands on his arms. “You keep up quite well for a man wearing his full armor.”

The hand on her back slid subtly over tell-tale ridges of the boning in her dress. “High praise from a woman wearing a corset.”

“You disapprove? Poor Tataru will be devastated, she was most confident in selecting it especially for the occasion.”

“On the contrary.” He spun her out to arms-length before pulling her back, their bodies meeting with a closeness that was probably just over the line for propriety. “You are even more radiant than I remember, and that is no small feat.”

The dance demanded their separation, but she was unsurprised when he claimed her hand again and again as the number of dancers swiftly dwindled; it was clear he intended her to have no other partner until it was over. The easy way they moved together despite the marked difference in their statures reminded her of their sparring sessions, and she realized with a sudden ache just how sorely she had missed his company. Hells, she even used to fall asleep on the broad windowsill inside his office some days, when she’d nowhere else to be, soothed by the comfortable silence that was broken only by the soft scratching of his quill. A myriad of things she wanted to say raced through her mind, but every time they came together, she found herself unwilling to break the silence with mere words.

She was keenly aware that all too soon that they were the only dancers remaining, and the music afforded them but a few moments to savor it before it came to a crescendo of conclusion. He continued to hold her close even after it faded, his eyes fixed on hers, and for a moment she wondered if he intended to stay like that indefinitely. He reluctantly remembered himself, and stepped back to bow, his lips grazing the back of her hand.

“We should speak.”

It was not a suggestion, almost more of a command, and she quirked a brow at him, her natural defiance breaking through her desire to agree immediately.

“You would appear to have other obligations to attend to first, Lord Speaker.” She could see them hovering nearby, all manner of well-wishers and nobles with agendas. His lips twitched slightly, and she could tell he bit back a less-than-polite comment regarding such ‘obligations’. She chuckled softly. “I fear I could not countenance any interruptions…do try and clear your schedule swiftly, my lord. I will wait…for a time.” She took a step back and curtsied, grinning to herself as those waiting stepped forward all at once and afforded her the opportunity to lose herself in the crowd.

She watched from the fringes as he patiently dealt with the inevitable politics of the event, pleased to see how his eyes frequently scanned the room, searching for her. She’d let him see her on occasion, and then throw him a quick wink or a knowing smirk before slipping away again, finding another part of the crowd to blend with. Part of her was still screaming internally at herself, how she could play such games when she wanted nothing more than to drag him to the side and kiss him senseless, everyone else in the room be damned. But there was something to be said for anticipation.

And if she was quite honest with herself, the chance to watch his reactions to her teasing was a temptation she could not ignore. Honestly, if she leaned any harder into her flirtations with the man, she’d probably fall flat on her metaphorical face, but he made it so irresistibly entertaining. None of her other companions reacted as he did; Alphinaud just blushed and flustered, Tataru would deflect and encourage someone else to join in, Urianger blithely ignored it, and while Y’shtola and Thancred played along, it would almost certainly devolve into a competition of blunt obscenities that had them all breathless with laughter.

Aymeric, though…he would rise to the occasion beautifully; perhaps it was his experience with the politics of Ishgard that had him matching her wit in a manner that felt much like their dance, circling and meeting, then spinning away again. Unfortunately, that same experience had made it almost impossible for her to gauge exactly how he had felt about their interactions, about _her._ She’d managed to unbalance him on a few rare occasions; a moment of speechlessness here, a hesitation there, but always he recovered himself with that same composure, that legendary _restraint. _And they always seemed to wind up right back where they started at the end. She stifled a sigh.

A brief exploration of the room discovered the entrance to an empty balcony, shrouded by half-drawn curtains. It was cold, as expected, though with her body still singing from the contact of the dance, she hardly felt it. At least it wasn’t snowing, for once.

The railing was designed for those a bit taller than she was, but she managed to lift herself up to sit on it, her tail lashed languidly over the edge as she twisted around to look out over the city. It was so unlike Ul’dah; all cold greys and whites and sharply pointed spires, in harsh contrast to the desert city’s warm sand tones and gentle curves. Yet there was something endearing about the way the monotone chill gave way to inviting warmth once inside the heavy doors of these halls; it reminded her of being embraced by an old friend.

_Would it be so awful, to have somewhere to call home again?_

The Scions were family, but after all that had happened, Ul’dah and even the Rising Stones felt temporary to her now. Just another room she would one day stop returning to. And while Ishgard held its own ghosts for her…there were still places that felt safe.

Or there had been. She shook her head. _Getting ahead of yourself, girl. Haven’t even worked up the nerve to stop playing around and just talk to him…_

A warm hand covered hers where it rested on the railing.

She snatched her hand away, grabbing a fistful of her assailant’s shirt as she whipped around to face forward, bringing her other hand up with a spell half-formed around her fingertips, and then froze.

His ice blue eyes sparkled with amusement as the aether dissipated, scattered by her surprise. When the hells had he learned to be so quiet? Or was she simply that distracted, to let her guard down so completely? She noted somewhat self-consciously that she was still gripping the front of his shirt and had leaned forward just slightly in anticipation of her spellcasting. With her perch on the railing bringing her a touch above his height for once, their faces were only ilms apart.

_I should let go now._ Her fingers had no apparent interest in obeying her.

“Has no one ever cautioned you against surprising a mage, lord commander?”

“Perhaps, but lest we forget, my curiosity makes a habit of putting such rumors to the test.”

Neither of them moved or spoke again for several long, tense moments. She scarcely dared to breathe, her heart hammering wildly against the confines of her chest. Finally, his lips curled into a small, wry smile.

“The window in my office has been strangely empty of late.”

She exhaled a breathy laugh. “I would imagine so.”

“You declined my invitation to dinner.” It was a question as much as a statement.

“…yes.”

He searched her expression carefully, the intensity of his gaze enough to bring sudden heat to the skin and scales on her face.

“Why?”

Answers swirled in her mind, crowding her tongue, and she found herself unable to voice any of them. Her free hand moved as if of its own accord, fingertips brushing lightly along his jawline, up over his cheek. His head turned slightly, leaning into the caress, eyes almost closing; the sweetness of the reaction made her heart ache.

_To the seven hells with it all._

She retained enough presence of mind to pause as she leaned in closer, lips just barely separate from his. Their warm breath mingled as she waited, giving him a chance to pull away if he chose, desperately praying that he would not. When he remained still, she allowed herself a moment of relief, pressing forward to claim his mouth.

Despite the tentative beginning, the kiss quickly grew quite heated as he responded enthusiastically, wrapping his arms around her waist, his lips parting to allow her entry. Their tongues sparred briefly, moving to explore each other, and though she felt a moment of concern that the tips of her horns were pressing against his face, he seemed to pay it no heed. She slipped her hand around to the back of his neck, sliding it up though the softness of his hair, delighting in the feel of it between her fingers and the way he moaned quietly into her mouth.

After waiting, wanting for so long, it was difficult to pull away, but the pressing need for air compelled them to part eventually. He rested his forehead against hers, their shared heavy breaths mingling once again.

“_Fury_.”

She could not help but smile at his breathless curse, moving her hand from his hair to lightly trace along the edges of his ear, watching him shiver in response.

“That is not how you say my name, Lord Commander.”

“I beg your forgiveness.” He turned his head slightly and whispered against her lips. “_Vieryne._”

It was her turn to shiver slightly at the reverence in his voice, and he was more than happy to take the opportunity to draw her in to another searing kiss. He was getting bolder, hands leaving her waist to explore the curve of her hips, running over her thighs, and she melted into the combined feeling of his mouth and fingers. Nothing else mattered except the two of them, here in this moment, together.

But not alone, as she was abruptly reminded by the sound of raised laughter from somewhere inside. She reluctantly pulled back, moving her hands to still his. Aymeric seemed oblivious, bending his head to use his lips and tongue on her neck, and she fought back a gasp as he found the sensitive spot in the center of her throat where the scales parted.

“I have dreamt of this,” he murmured against her. “So many nights.”

The thought sent an electric thrill through her. “Full glad would I be to hear of that in _great_ detail.” She narrowed her eyes at the entrance back into the hall as there was another swell in the volume of the celebration. “Somewhere else.”

He sighed, the warmth of his breath spreading across her scales, and it was hard to resist the urge to encourage him to continue. She felt the cold all the more keenly as he straightened, glancing over his shoulder with a grimace.

“We will be hard pressed to make any timely progress towards an exit, I fear.” Turning his eyes back to her, he ran his fingers first along the curve of one of her horns, then dropped them to her jawline, brushing over her bottom lip. “I am not of a mind to share your company with any others this eve.”

“Nor I yours,” she agreed. “And I have not the patience to wait out their departure.”

“I fear it would not avail us if we did…it is unlikely my path here went entirely unmarked. ‘Tis only a matter of time before we find ourselves under siege.”

“Then we must find an alternative avenue of retreat.” She glanced over her shoulder, gauging the distance to the gardens below them, then back at him, raising an eyebrow and smiling.

He followed her gaze, then shook his head with a bemused huff. “You cannot be serious, my lady.”

“Oh, come now, ‘new Azure Dragoon’.” She pushed herself up, balancing easily on the railing. “Surely you are not afraid of a little _jump._” Bending at the waist, she cupped his face in her hands, giving him a teasing kiss before launching herself into a backflip out into the air. It was a terrifying, exhilarating moment of spinning darkness before she landed in a crouch on the cold ground below. The satisfying sound of his heavier landing nearby followed a few moments later, though his aim was less precise than hers, his armor catching on several large shrubs.

“You have been spending too much time with Estinien, Warrior of Light.” He was trying to look stern, and she could not help but laugh as he brushed stray foliage from his armor. “Encouraging me to sneak out through gardens…I daresay you are attempting to become a bad influence on me.”

“You hardly needed much encouraging, lord commander.” She leaned up on her toes to pluck a leaf from his hair. “If you are concerned for your virtue, perhaps I should take my leave? Twelve forfend I provoke you into something…” She let the tip of the leaf trail down the side of his face before giving it a final twirl in her fingers and letting it fall. “Reckless.”

He made a sound very much like a growl deep in his throat, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, but she pressed her fingertips to his lips to stop them from meeting hers, grinning wickedly.

“Ah, I believe we were still in the process of escaping, ser?” Some part of her was aware she was being an unbelievable tease, but this dance of wit, now that their mutual desire was out in the open, had gone from entertaining to downright _intoxicating_. It was a power she could not easily bring herself to relinquish.

Aymeric gave another small, impatient grumble, but released his hold, stepping back to offer his arm. He opened his mouth to speak, but voices from above had them both frozen for a moment.

“Do not fret, my dear, I know I saw the Lord Commander step through here but a few moments ago…”

He grabbed her hand, tugging her along the garden path, and she stifled a breathless laugh as they raced towards the street.


	2. An Uncertain Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two fools finally stop messing around and start messing around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation from the previous chapter. Definitely NSFW. Sexy fun times. With some feelings.

Aymeric’s heart had not felt so light since his triumphant flight, borne aloft by Vedrfolnir over the spires of his beloved city. Even out of breath, having kept up a brisk pace through the streets, he felt like he could have kept going forever, run straight out of the city with her. Off to the Sea of Clouds, or some other even more remote destination.

And yet, as they stood in the safety of the cozy sitting room in his estate, cheeks still flushed from the cold outside, he could not help but wonder if he was dreaming again. How many times had he pulled her close, only to have her vanish as he awoke alone in his chambers? He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he divested himself of his pauldrons and the outer coat of his armor. She leaned against the mantle above the hearth, seemingly enjoying the warmth remaining from the low fire left to burn overnight, but she was clearly watching him as well, her lips curving into a smile as their eyes met.

He laid the armor carefully over the back of a chair, followed by his gloves. The overlapping plates that covered his legs and boots were a more complex task, one he had to sit down for, and she continued to watch his every movement like a hawk as he willed his fingers to work as fast as possible.

They had not spoken much since their escape, or their arrival at Borel Manor. The silence was a tense, coiled thing, not uncomfortable but full of anticipation, ready to snap at a moment’s notice. It was a strange relief; he was not sure he could have been a gentleman much longer with the way she smiled when she knew she was tempting him. Perhaps it was high time he turned her own strategies against her.

The last trappings of war finally discarded, he stood, moving casually to stand next to her at the hearth, noting how her eyes lit up with his approach.

“You have my deepest gratitude for allowing me to show you the hospitality of my hall, my lady.” He lifted her hand to kiss the back of it, lips lingering for a moment that would have been scandalously long in their previous environs. “If somewhat later than originally anticipated.” He gestured to the long couch behind them. “Pray make yourself comfortable. I fear the staff has long since retired for the evening, but I am no stranger to the kitchen. Would you care for some tea?”

She arched a brow at him, pursing her lips slightly in mock disapproval. “Surely you did not drag me halfway across Ishgard to give me tea, ser.”

“Is there something else you would prefer I give you, my lady?” He was pleased to see her left speechless for a moment, and her cheeks darken slightly at the edges of her scales. Was this a blush? He wondered how many times it had gone unnoticed in his presence before. “You seem a bit flustered. One might almost think you were considering something…indecent.”

Fury, he’d forgotten how fast she could move.

She pushed him backwards; caught off balance, he stumbled, and when his legs met the edge of the couch he fell onto his back, the wind knocked slightly out of him. Quick as a flash, she was sitting on top of him, her knees on either side of his waist. She bent over him, cupping his face in her hands, and for the second time that day their faces were but ilms apart. Fire and ice stared each other down, and he scarcely dared to breathe, his heart pounding just as wildly as it had on the balcony, the anticipation of her touch no less strong for having already been blessed with it once.

A brief moment passed, a small eternity.

“Aymeric.”

She half whispered, half sighed his name, and closed the rest of the distance between them, pressing her lips to his.

His heart soared, and he responded with full enthusiasm, wrapping one arm around her waist, and slipping his other hand up to the nape of her neck. Some absent part of his mind noted the tips of her horns brushing against his cheeks as she moved her hands up to tangle in his hair, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. Their tongues entwined in a heated battle for dominance as they plundered each other’s mouths, and Aymeric let himself sink into the bliss of the moment.

After all too short a time, he felt her pull back, and though his instinct was to hold her tighter, pull her closer, _to never let go, _he relaxed his grip, letting her lips part from his. He kept his hands where they were, still afraid she would suddenly slip from his grasp, and this would prove no more than another agonizingly perfect dream.

Vieryne gazed down at him again, breathing heavily. “You.” She gently placed her finger on the tip of his nose. “Are far too tall.”

He laughed, more deeply and freely than he had in years. “I beg your forgiveness, my lady.” He smiled up at her. “You have only to ask, and I shall make myself more accessible. Kneeling, perhaps.”

She slid her fingers through his hair. “I think I am more than capable of finding ways to catch you off guard. Though the thought of you kneeling before me certainly has its appeal.” A slow, wicked smile stole across her lips as mischievous light danced in her eyes.

He groaned inwardly and pulled her back down into another kiss, hard and fierce, as if she were the very air he needed to breathe. Eyes closed, even with the feel of her lips and tongue, the scent of her skin, he might still pretend at self-control a little longer than he would if she kept giving him that look. Soon enough they both required true air again, and he reluctantly allowed himself to release her once more.

“_Vieryne_.” It was a whispered devotion, a prayer. “You cannot know the effect you have on me.”

She smirked. “Oh, I think I may have an inkling. And you are hardly guiltless on that account yourself, looking at a lady like that.” She touched a gentle, almost cautious hand to his cheek, trailing her fingertips down to his jaw.

“Oh?” He caught her hand in his own and brought it to his lips, kissing her palm gently, never breaking eye contact. She shivered slightly in response, and he smiled against her skin.

Her tone dropped, hushed and reverent, even as the words tumbled haltingly from her lips, as if she feared she would lose the ability to speak them aloud. “That damned intense look of yours. Like you can see through to my very soul…and even after everything you know of me, after all we have been through…everything I have failed to _do_ and to _be_…you still find it worthy. Divine, even.”

Aymeric sat up quickly, and she made a small startled sound as she almost lost her balance, but he kept his arm around her, pulling her close. “You _are _divine. If Halone herself appeared before us in this moment, she would be naught but a candle to your sun.” He bent his head to trail light kisses down her neck, and she tilted her head back to allow him access with a soft, pleased hum. “You are passion and fire, and I can do naught but worship, even if it should consume me.” His voice sounded dark and husky, even to his own ears. “Nay, especially if it should consume me.”

****

Vieryne’s heart was thundering out of control again, her blood roaring in her veins. She pushed him back down and claimed his mouth with hers, all caution thrown to the winds. His lips parted willingly to allow her entrance, letting her take all she wanted from him. And still, it was not enough. He spoke of her fire, but all she could think about was stoking his. She held his bottom lip in her teeth for a moment before releasing him, trailing kisses along his jawline to his right ear. She traced her tongue along the lobe and felt his breath hitch beneath her.

A good start, but she still wanted more.

She continued to trace her tongue around the outside, listening to his breathing go ragged. She reached the tip of his ear, took it between her teeth, and pulled.

Aymeric gasped, his hands gripping her hips, trying to press her even closer than she already was. She grinned wickedly again, practically purring in his ear.

“Careful what you wish for, love…_you have no idea how hot I can burn_.”

In one quick surge he stood up from the couch, still holding her hips next to his, forcing her to wrap her legs around him to keep from falling, and he was striding towards the door before she’d really registered what had happened. Vieryne chuckled, wrapped her arms around his neck and continued to tease at his ear, licking and nipping at his skin, delighting in the small groans he was making under her ministrations. He had to pause at the bottom of the stairs to take a deep, shaky breath.

“Dearest…if you do not hold off for a moment, I am afraid we will never make it past the hallway.” The hunger in his voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“You say that as if it would be a bad thing,” she murmured, but she settled for simply nuzzling into his neck instead.

He took the stairs two at a time, and his long legs carried them swiftly through the halls, pausing just long enough in front of his door to boot it unceremoniously open. She could tell he meant to set her gently on the bed, but she wiggled free of his grasp, gracefully dodging his attempt to pull her close again. Leaning against one of the elaborately carved bedposts, she tilted her head to the side and smirked at him.

“Sit down, Lord Commander.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, failing to hide his smile as he sat on the edge of the bed. “It has been quite some time since anyone has given _me_ orders. And in mine own chambers, no less.”

“Full glad am I to be able to reacquaint you with the experience.” She moved to stand in front of him, nudging his legs apart with hers, putting one foot up on the edge of the bed, the toe of her boot just barely brushing against his pants. “Assist me.”

He bent forward, fingers reaching around the back of her thigh, finding the laces but ghosting burning touches to her leg far more than necessary as he started to undo them. His warm breath tingled against the inside of her knee as he ran a hand up her calf, gently lifting it before slowly, ever so slowly pulling the boot down and off, leaving a tender kiss there before he leaned back again, waiting for her to offer the other boot, which he treated with equally sensual care.

She took a deep steadying breath, feeling her resolve starting to crumble, ready to throw herself at him with all the wanton abandon that coiled inside her, burning. But if there was one other thing she had in ample supply, it was willpower, and she would be damned if after wanting him for so long they were not going to savor this moment to its fullest extent.

Her lips and teeth found the tip of his ear again, nibbling gently, rewarding him for his efforts, and he tilted his head to the side to give her ample access to it. She trailed kisses down the edge, letting her teeth catch on the lobe before moving down towards his neck, only to find the high collar of his tunic thwarting her efforts. She drew back, eyeing the offending garment.

“Tunic. Off. Now.”

For a moment Aymeric didn’t move, and he held her gaze as if considering defiance, to try and take back control, but she also heard his breathing quicken in anticipation, and he slowly grasped the hem. Never letting his eyes stray from hers, save for the brief moment as he tugged it over his head, he let it fall to the floor unheeded.

She sucked in her breath sharply. _Seven hells._ She knew he was a warrior, and not the type of commander to sit idle while his troops fought, but the sight of him sent blood rushing to color her cheeks again, and her hands shook slightly as she reached for him. Tracing the contours of his chest with her fingertips, she marveled at the softness of his skin over the hard, well-defined muscles, feeling him tremble in response under her touch, his eyes still locked on hers. Her fingers paused momentarily over each scar, as if she could commit the history of him to memory with her fingertips. She let her gaze drop to his lap, where the evidence of his desire strained against his pants, and her tongue slipped between her lips to wet them in anticipation.

Aymeric let out a low, wanting moan and reached for her, but Vieryne deftly caught his wrists. “Patience, ser.” She planted a teasing kiss on the tip of his nose.

He huffed in response, but let his hands fall back to the bed. “That look will be the end of me, temptress.”

She laughed lightly. “Ah, my poor commander. How can I spare him from this fate?” She cupped his face with her hands, barely brushing her lips over his. “Close your eyes.” His brow furrowed, and he began to protest, but she silenced him with another kiss, leaving him breathless. “Trust me.”

****

If there existed a more exquisite form of torture in all the world, Aymeric couldn’t think of what it might be at the moment.

His skin still burned with need where her fingers had so delicately left their searing trails, and though his eyes were now closed at her behest, he could feel the nearness of her movements in front of him, hear the discrete rustling of her clothes as they hit the floor, her shallow breath. It felt like an age since he’d touched her.

A moment more and he’d go mad.

Her hands lifted his as he felt her breath, warm and provocative against his ear. “No stolen glances now, my lord…just feel.”

She guided his hands to rest on her waist, warm and soft and bare, and he groaned involuntarily again as he drank in the feel of her, sliding his thumbs across her stomach. He felt with fascination the areas where her scales met skin, tracing the outlines that ran over her hips and down onto her thighs (feeling with some satisfaction that she still wore her smalls, he wanted to _watch_ when he removed those). Though he ached to see her, every sound she made under the attention of his hands was electrifying; from soft hums, deep shaky breaths, and low moans, to the sudden hiss of a sharp inhale as he moved his hands up, ghosting them over the sides of her breasts. He allowed himself a wicked grin of his own, moving his fingers up to trace her collarbone, deliberately allowing only the lightest brushes where he knew she wanted his touch the most.

Aymeric slid his hands over her shoulders, and down her back, marveling at the subtle feel of her muscles under the skin. She relied on grace and speed more than brute strength, but her curves were well-toned nonetheless. He followed a patch of scales down her spine, to where her tail met her back.

A sudden thought struck him; he grinned, pressing his thumbs to the area just at the base of her tail, and massaged gently.

She let out a breathless cry and arched her back, pressing herself against him, and his eyes flew open before he could stop himself, drinking in the sight of her with her eyes half closed, lips parted, hands clutching his upper arms to steady herself. He slid his hand back up her spine, up to the nape of her neck, freeing her hair from its careful arrangement, watching as the long locks tumbled over her shoulders.

“Gods…you are magnificent.” He pulled her in for a crushing kiss, barely able to contain himself, not when she was responding with such fervent desire of her own. He moved his gentle caresses around to her front, brushing his thumbs over her taut nipples, and she rewarded him with a loud moan against his mouth, digging her fingers into his arm. He continued his ministrations, rolling each one between his fingers gently, while she writhed and gasped against him.

Finally, their lips parted again, both panting and breathless. She looked at him with half-lidded eyes, smiling.

“W-Well…played…Commander. Although…I do not recall allowing you to open your eyes yet.”

He laughed, tracing another lazy circle around her breast with his thumb, watching her tremble. “I am afraid I could not help myself, dearest…I beg your forgiveness.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Oh really…beg away, then.”

“As you command, my lady.” He deftly pulled her into his lap to straddle him once more, leaning her torso backwards just a bit, giving him ample access as he dipped his head, flicking his tongue across one of her nipples. She clung to his arms even tighter, moaning and grinding her hips against him as he sucked and teased first one side, then the other, kissing a sensuous path between them, scribing his pleas across her flesh with his tongue.

“Ah…A-Aymeric…”

His heart leapt each time she murmured his name. He was used to her using his titles, even after repeatedly requests for less formal address; to her, it was a game, a show of endearment, of their friendship. But to hear his name fall from her lips thus, a plea and a command and a breathless prayer all in one, was like the sweetest wine, and far more intoxicating.

He hardly needed any reminders of his own aching desire for her, but the way she was moving against him certainly brought it to the forefront of his mind, and it took everything he had not to throw her under him on the bed that very instant. She had other plans, however, and he could not help but let out a disappointed groan as she pushed herself back off of him.

****

This was not exactly what she’d planned. She wanted to draw it out, to find his every secret weakness, use them to bring him to the very heights of mindless pleasure. To make the night burn as long as possible, a last stand in the face of an uncertain future.

She hadn’t accounted for his every slight touch, every new exploration of his fingers and tongue feeling so damned _good_, sending molten fire rushing through her veins. The heat of it was almost unbearable. Had it truly been so long since she last took a lover, that she could come undone so easily? It was possible, but as she pushed herself off of his lap, her legs trembling as she looked down into his eyes, wide and dark with lust and something else she dared not name, she knew it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with _him_.

_To the hells with the plan._ She seemed to be thinking that quite often this evening.

Her hands flew to the waistband of his pants, and he took the hint immediately, standing and letting her make quick work of the fastenings. She shoved them down none too gently, smallclothes and all, freeing his length. Taking a moment to appreciate the size of it, she brushed her hand up the shaft, reveling in the softness, like hot velvet against her skin. Illogically, impossibly, she knew only that heat could quell the burning inside, and she wanted that relief, more than anything.

He hissed softly, catching her hand at the wrist before she could explore further, pinning it behind her back. “N-not…not this time. I will have you properly first.”

She tilted her head to the side, giving him a sly smile. “’Tis a shame…here I thought we were going to do something most _improper._” She practically purred with satisfaction, stepping forward to press her body against him.

Aymeric swore incoherently, and next thing she knew her back was hitting the bed, his weight pressing down on top of her, both of her hands pinned above her head by one of his. She wriggled a bit, half to see how tightly he would hold her, and half to hear the frustrated growl he gave at the friction it created between them, his length now burning against her thigh. He pushed himself up a bit, and though she heard herself give a soft whine at the loss of contact, the sight of him pulling her smallclothes down with his free hand proved to be worth it.

He devoured her lips with a frantic hunger, his tongue driving into her mouth in imitation of how she wanted him elsewhere. A long finger ran up through the wetness of her folds, and they both moaned into each other, her hips bucking up towards him in desperation. He withdrew both mouth and hand, chuckling darkly as it was her turn to growl at him.

“I swear to the gods, if you dare start toying with me now, I will…” She was cut off with a gasp as he leaned down and tugged at one of her nipples with his teeth.

“I hardly think you are in any position to be making threats, dearest.”

Despite his words, he released her hands, steadying himself as he pressed himself against her warmth, and she rolled her hips upward, eager to feel him. He paused, searching her face for any signs of doubt.

“Yes…yes, _please_…” The words fell from her lips without hesitation.

He pressed forward, and she cried out in ecstasy as he finally filled her, ilm by ilm, until he was fully hilted inside. They stayed still for an achingly long moment, holding each other’s gaze, until he began to move his hips, pulling in and out of her at an agonizingly slow pace.

She could see the darkness flickering behind his eyes, a flame that matched her own need. “You’re…a-ah…holding back,” she whispered. “Let go.”

His eyes clouded for a moment, and he stopped moving, brow furrowed. She clutched at his shoulders, afraid he might pull away from her entirely.

“I …I fear…I will not be able to stop…” The effort of keeping his restraint was evident in his voice, and her heart swelled with the sweetness of it. “I…”

“Do not hold back,” she ordered and begged all with the same breath. “I want all of you…everything. Please.”

The look in his eyes was so intense, so full of hunger and devotion it hurt to hold his gaze, but she couldn’t tear herself away from it even if she’d wanted to.

He started moving again, this time with an almost mindless haste, lifting her hips to drive deeper, and she matched him, digging her nails into his shoulders as the world fell away. Nothing left but warm breath, heavy and panting, the sound of skin brushing against skin. Lips meeting, tongues seeking and then parting again, the taste of salt and sweetness. The feeling of him moving inside her, an exquisite completeness she’d never felt before, sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her entire being with each thrust.

Their breathing became more and more laboured, their movements more erratic as they raced towards the edge together. She was whispering his name without even realizing it, and the look of adoration, of _love_ in his eyes sent her flying over the peak, with one last utterance of his name as a hoarse shout. He tensed, burying his face against her neck as he spilled his warmth within her, moaning her name in turn.

They slowed, finally stopped, shuddering and clinging to each other. Aymeric carefully rolled on to his side, taking her with him, and they lay facing each other in blissful silence, foreheads touching, and eyes closed, a moment she never wanted to end.

But eventually he pulled away, chuckling softly at her grumble of displeasure. He returned quickly enough, and she was surprised to feel a pleasantly cool cloth, gently pressed between her legs, cleaning her with such tender care that it threatened to set her aflame again. Vieryne opened one eye and couldn’t help but giggle at his raised eyebrow.

“You are full of surprises, O Knight Most Heavenly.”

Aymeric laughed. “Pleasant ones, I hope.” He settled back down beside her, pulling her close and stroking her hair. She nuzzled into his shoulder with a contented sigh.

“Most pleasant. Though I admit, it makes me quite curious…exactly what point in your knightly training did they instruct you on how to be so deliciously _wicked_?” She traced a lazy path down his side with her fingers. “And though I have no idea where you got that notion about the tail…I thoroughly encourage further exploration.”

He snorted, bemused, ruffling her hair slightly. “Full glad am I to take that under advisement, dearest. But I will not subject you to the retelling of aught that was overheard in taverns from soldiers invested of too much drink.”

“After everything we…you worry that _tavern talk_ will make me blush?” She was overcome with laughter for a while before finally recovering enough to press a kiss into his neck, still giggling softly. “Ah, love…do not ever change.”

She felt him tense slightly, and he tucked a finger under her chin, lifting her face to look up at him. “’Tis the second time this night you have called me that.”

“Oh? Are we keeping score? I believe you have me at a disadvantage by at least two ‘dearest’s, in that case.”

“Vieryne…”

Her teasing smile faded quickly at the serious edge to his voice. This was exactly the sort of conversation she’d been wanting to avoid, however much she knew it needed to happen.

_It should have happened before you fell into bed with him, you idiot._ The thought hit her with a sharp pang of guilt.

She sighed. “Aymeric, I…”

Seven hells, she didn’t even know where to begin.

“I will not make a promise I cannot keep. No matter how much I may wish it.” His brow furrowed, but she pressed on before he could interject. “I heard…I know what it is they want from you, the real reason they were having a celebration for you tonight. And I would not have you stay your hand from that choice because of an empty oath that I can never fulfill, because I am the godsdamned Warrior of Light, and as much as I want to be stupid and selfish about this, I cannot…any more than I already have been thus far. I…”

She paused, the slight shaking of his shoulders becoming too pronounced to ignore. “Why are you laughing?” she demanded.

He kissed her forehead gently, still chuckling. “You are most endearing, attempting to defend my poor heart from _yourself_.” He smiled, so damned sincere and loving she almost couldn’t believe he was real. “Answer me plain, dearest. Is there a place for me in _yours_?”

It was suddenly difficult to speak or breathe around the lump in her throat, and the corners of her eyes stung as her vision blurred.

“_Always_,” she choked out the whispered reply. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, swiping the tears away as he kissed her.

“Then that is the only oath I shall ever require.” He breathed the words onto her lips, into her mouth, following them with his tongue. She melted against him, feeling an odd sense of peace even as she felt like her ribcage might crack under the intensely hammered rhythm of her heartbeat.

He pulled her head close to his chest when they finally parted, heedless of her horn pressing against his flesh. She closed her eyes, the vibrations of his pulse reverberating through her, and entwined they drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what feels more awkward, having written it, or subjecting the rest of you to it.
> 
> Of all the things I would finally get the courage to post online, it had to be porn. <.<
> 
> Next chapter is morning-after feels!
> 
> And quite possibly more smut. >.>;


	3. A New Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An otherwise idyllic morning gets slightly interrupted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation from the previous chapter, also mostly very NSFW.

Aymeric blinked against the unfamiliar sight of sunlight angling in through the curtains. When was the last time he’d awoken after dawn? Sleep had never been one of his vices, something both Lucia and his steward were quick to reprimand him for when he spent yet another long night in one of his offices.

There was no mystery as to the cause of his late awakening, and it certainly wasn’t one he held any regrets over. He was enraptured by the even rise and fall of her chest, the complete peace of her expression, with her lips slightly parted, tempting him. Her hair shrouded some of her face, and he longed to brush it aside, but dared not risk waking her. Though he’d always managed to avoid it before, hadn’t he?

_She lingered as all the others took their leave, glancing around the office with an appraising eye. He watched her with a raised eyebrow but held his peace until the door closed._

_“Is aught amiss, my friend?”_

_She shook her head, tilting it to look past him at the furnishings along the walls._

_“I keep meaning to ask…why do you have a wardrobe in here?”_

_He blinked, glancing to the piece in question. “I…find it necessary, on occasion, to have more appropriate attire on hand. I do not live in my armor, I assure you.”_

_She laughed lightly. “Oh, I think you might. You have all the trappings of a man who spends far too much time in his office.” She meandered around the room, pausing briefly here and there to inspect things that caught her interest. He felt strangely apprehensive, though the reason for it eluded him. She glanced up, perhaps feeling his gaze still upon her._

_“Pray forgive me if I am keeping you from your duties, Lord Commander.”_

_“Nay, your company is always welcome. Though I would fain see you take some rest while the opportunity is present, my lady.”_

_She shrugged, stopping by the windowsill, looking out to the streets of Ishgard._

_“I have nowhere else to be.”_

_Something about the way she said it gave him pause. Nowhere to be…or nowhere to go?_

_“Full glad am I to have you remain as long as you wish.” He seated himself at his desk once more, though truthfully it was difficult to concentrate on the missives before him when he could feel her presence in the room; as always, she filled the space with her very being. He stole a glance over after a few moments and was somewhat amused to see she’d pulled herself up to lounge on the broad windowsill, back against the stone wall, hugging her knees as she watched the snow falling, her tail hanging off the edge, making slow, gentle movements from side to side._

_“Do you ever miss it?”_

_Her soft question after the long silence took him by surprise. “Miss it, my lady?”_

_“How it used to be. Before the Calamity.” She touched the glass briefly. “I traveled through once, when I was much younger. We did not enter the city, of course, but we made our way through the Highlands…I remember thinking it was a beautiful place.”_

_He considered for a moment, watching her rather than the window._

_“There are times when I do recall Coerthas as it was with some regret for its current state. But there is beauty to be found here yet.”_

_She did not look at him, but her lips curved into the slightest hint of a smile as she rested her head against the cold glass._

_“Oh indeed. Had I known just how many wonderfully striking Elezen your fair city held, I would have led the charge to open your gates a good deal sooner, rather than waiting for Alphinaud to make the attempt.”_

_He chuckled. “I shudder to think how the Houses would have fared under such an onslaught. I daresay you would have had the larger portion of our forces swooning at your feet.”_

_Her warm laughter filled his office for a time before the silence descended once more. Eventually he glanced over again, and was oddly struck to see her eyes closed, shoulders moving just slightly with her even breaths, face completely relaxed for the first time since he’d met her, some moons ago now. The quill slipped from his fingers, unheeded, and he found himself standing over her, wondering how it was that he deserved such an act of trust from the formidable Warrior of Light._

_It would only add to her teasing him later, he knew, but he fetched one of the blankets from the wardrobe regardless, and was half bent over her to arrange it before he realized what he was doing. What would she think, if she awoke to see him standing over her, so close that he might easily have stolen an affectionate touch to her cheek, or brushed his lips to her forehead?_

_And furthermore, what was **he** doing, thinking of such things in the first place?_

_He took a deep breath to calm his racing pulse and laid the blanket across her with the lightest touch he could manage. She made no sound or movement in response, and he stepped back quickly, sitting at his desk, staring blankly at the paperwork for a long while before he retrieved his quill._

_A dangerous game, Estinien had said, to allow himself to be distracted. How the dragoon would glare and grumble if he could see him now._

Aymeric smiled fondly at the memory. Estinien would likely still glare and grumble at him, were he not absent from the city yet again. Distracted, indeed.

That had been the first of many times she’d chosen to linger in his office, and he hadn’t realized just how much it meant to him until the day he’d expected her to stay…and she did not.

He tried again, as he had so many times over the past weeks, to find the cause behind the change of her demeanor in his memories and came up wanting. She’d been with them to greet Estinien when he finally regained consciousness, and when he was named Speaker of the House of Lords, she was in the background with the rest of the Scions. Yet despite his every effort to engage her in a moment alone, she had proved incredibly elusive, and he still had no real answer as to why she refused to see him. He’d wanted to ask when the Scions brought him the troubling reports of the Warriors of Darkness and the Ixal’s activity, but once again, her heart seemed already heavy and troubled, and he did not want to be the cause of more pain.

_Or mayhap that’s what you told yourself, to hide your own fears._

He sighed softly. She was here now; perhaps that was all that mattered.

Her leg was draped possessively over his, but he managed to slip out of the bed with minimal disturbance as the pressing concerns of nature became more insistent. When he returned, she was stretching languidly, one eye cracked open and a sly smile on her lips. She crooked her finger at him, beckoning an invitation he could not have refused even if he had been inclined to try.

He took his time about it, though; climbing slowly over her, he kissed along her stomach, between her breasts, along her neck and jaw before finally reaching her lips. When they parted, he finally indulged the impulse to brush her hair back, wrapping a silky lock around his finger for a moment.

“How blessed are the whims of fate, to have brought this goddess to my side.”

She huffed, swatting at his hand, smiling nonetheless. “Have a care with all this talk of worship and goddesses, ser. ‘Twould be the ultimate irony to make a primal out of a primal _slayer_.”

“Hm.” He nuzzled into her neck. “Then I should be most happily tempered.”

“Do not dare jest of such things.” Her voice was still light, but there was a slight tremor behind it as she wrapped her arms around him. “I would have to spend the rest of my life finding a way to bring you back just to reprimand you.”

“Perish the thought.” He ran his tongue over the edge of her skin where it met scales, and she shivered. “There are far better things I would have you spend the rest of your life doing to me.”

“Alas, I have unleashed an insatiable beast.” She did not sound distressed in the slightest. He pulled back to eye her mischievous grin as she traced light circles on his lower back. “How have the ladies of Ishgard survived thus far, I wonder.”

He grimaced. “I assure you, there have been none for no small amount of time.”

“That is precisely my meaning. I should have perished from longing by now if I were them.” She pulled him closer, whispering in his ear. “How many, do you think, wake in the darkness of their bowers, with sweat on their brow and your name on their lips, bodies aflame from a dreamt-of touch?” She arched her hips up against him as she spoke, and the feel of her had him hard and aching again in an instant. He moaned involuntarily, and she gave a pleased hum in response. “Something you can relate to, commander?”

His only answer was to kiss her until they were both breathless, their hands roaming over each other with increasing urgency.

The light knock on the door froze them both, and they stared at each other with growing frustration.

“I swear,” she hissed, “if that is about aught other than breakfast, whoever it is will be answering to my rapier.”

He gave her a wry smile before raising his voice towards the door. “What is it?” A bit more of his irritation crept into his tone than he’d meant, and he could hear the nervous shuffle of feet in the hallway.

“Begging your pardon, my lord…” One of the younger members of his staff, from the voice. “The steward bade me inform you there is a small contingent from the House of Lords that have come to seek an audience.”

“The House is not in assembly today, and I am not receiving any visitors, Antonin.”

“Yes, my lord, he did inform them that you were…indisposed.” The young man’s voice cracked slightly. “But they are most insistent upon remaining until they speak with you. They are, ah…very angry, my lord.”

****

Vieryne growled, narrowing her eyes at the door.

“They are very angry,” she repeated softly. “_They_ are very _angry_.”

Aymeric sighed. “No doubt they seek to issue a rebuke for my unannounced departure from the festivities.” He looked down at her, and his slight smile held more than a hint of mischief. “What say you, dearest? Ignore them until they give up, or shall we receive our guests and let them learn firsthand the folly of provoking your magnificent wrath?”

She considered idly for a moment before his choice of words struck her, and she furrowed her brow. “Wait, _we_?”

He looked bemused. “Aye, _we. _Were you under the impression I would ask you to hide in my wardrobe?” A moment of uncertainty stole across his expression. “Unless that is your wish…?”

She caressed the side of his face, her mind racing. All the times she’d allowed herself a flight of fancy, imagining the moment they might come together…she’d never stopped to consider whether or not they might need to hide it. What damage it might do to all the progress he’d gained for Ishgard, for everything he still hoped to gain, were it to be known that he dallied with a foreign commoner, and an Au Ra at that.

But would he really compromise his convictions, his earnestness, his _honesty _for her?

Did she want him to?

“I…” She paused, then took a deep breath, trying to choose her words carefully. “Truthfully, love, it never occurred to me before this moment. But no, I have no desire to hide. Perhaps that is selfish of me, knowing that it will be inconvenient for you. With them.” She flicked a glance towards the door.

Aymeric snorted. “Darling, it is the nature of politics to be inconvenient. I would daresay that may be the _only_ purpose to it, as often as not.” He smiled in earnest and brushed a light kiss across her cheek. “Let them speak against us if they will. They cannot sway my heart.”

She laughed. “Very well. But mayhap I should be the one to address them, Lord Commander? Sometimes that silver tongue of yours is far too restrained when it comes to putting such people in their place.”

He pulled back, staring down at her, and her breath was all but gone, stolen by the dark flicker in his eyes.

“Too restrained,” he murmured.

Her mouth was suddenly quite dry, and before she could respond his hands were firmly on her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed.

She inhaled sharply. “Aymeric…”

He knelt between her legs, running his hands over her thighs, placing a gentle, searing kiss on the inside of each as he positioned them over his shoulders.

“Antonin.”

There was a muffled cough from outside. “Er, yes, my lord?”

“You may inform the steward that we will _not_ be receiving any visitors today under _any _circumstances. He may tell our guests that I have urgent business with the Warrior of Light.” His eyes remained locked on hers, burning with unconcealed desire. “It would seem that she is in need of a demonstration of just how ‘restrained’ my tongue can be.”

The sound of hastily retreating footsteps was the only response.

She laughed breathlessly, about to comment on him kneeling before her, when his tongue slipped into her warmth, sending her back arching towards the ceiling as she struggled to catch her breath. And then there was no room for thought at all.

Aymeric flicked his tongue over her bud before he danced it maddeningly around her core, never quite close enough for true satisfaction, sucking briefly at her most sensitive places before moving on. He repeated the actions again and again, driving her closer and closer to the edge before retreating to kiss and nip at the inside of her thighs, marking her and soothing the marks with his tongue, until she thought she would go mad with want, and then he returned to dip between her folds, finally working his way back to the place she wanted him most, only to retreat again at the edge of her bliss. His hands held her thighs firmly in place as she writhed under his devotions, hips bucking, desperate to be closer, to seek release. Her fingers curled into the sheets and the softness of his hair, and she couldn’t say how many times she gasped prayers, curses, his name, all one and the same.

After what felt like an eternity of frustrated pleasure, just as she reached the point where she felt she couldn’t take any more, his tongue remained on her, pressing in firm, quick circles, and she let out a hoarse cry, back arching again as her world exploded into light. But then he _didn’t stop_, instead quickly slipping a slender finger inside her, then another and another, pumping in and out as she tightened around him, his tongue still working her, and soon everything exploded yet again, even more intensely than the first. Only then did he let her rest, smiling against her as he pulled back slightly, licking some of the wetness from her thighs. She trembled uncontrollably as the rolling waves of pleasure slowly subsided, leaving her panting and her limbs weak.

“I hope my lady is pleased with the demonstration.”

She watched him through half-lidded eyes as he rose and began to climb over her again, his own arousal evident.

“Oh, love,” she huffed, still short of breath. “You are going to pay for that.”

“I shall look forward to that promised retribution later, dearest.” He leaned down to kiss her, and she seized the opening, tangling her legs with his and using the leverage to flip him onto his side. She rolled to follow, pushing his shoulders down, pinning him on his back.

“Who said anything about ‘later’?”

His eyes were wide, dancing with the spark of lust and anticipation, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, but any response he might have had was cut off by his broken moan as she rolled her hips against his. It was so easy to slide herself onto him after all of his deliciously frustrating ministrations, and she paused as she reached the base to savor the feeling. It certainly was not because she needed a few moments to recover herself still, oh no.

She rode him with a careful rhythm, slow and sweet, building with each movement. His fingertips pressed into her hips, and though she could tell he longed to run them over her body, she kept his shoulders pinned, limiting his movement. He pressed his head back onto the bed, struggling to keep his eyes open, to watch her as she moved above him.

Just when she could feel him begin to tense, hear his breathing go ragged, saw him getting close, she stopped.

Waiting, watching, she saw the corners of his mouth turn up slightly as he realized her game. She gave him a wide, wicked grin, keeping her hips completely still as she stretched her arms languidly over her head. He watched her every movement with rapt attention and growing desperation, and she could feel his hips twitch, begging to buck upwards, to drive deeper into her.

He was the far stronger of the two of them; if he truly wanted, he could seize control again in an instant, and there would be little she could do about it. They both knew it, and somehow that only fueled her excitement to see him force himself still, to submit to her ‘retribution’. To know that she had control of _his_ control; for once in her chaotic life, something that belonged just to her.

And oh, was she going to enjoy it.

Just as he had done with her, she brought him to the edge again and again, her own pleasure mounting with each strangled moan and hungry whisper of her name. Skin flushed, sweat trickling down the side of his face, messy bangs stuck against his forehead, he was the sweetest, most intoxicating sight she could have ever imagined.

“Ah…_Fury_…Vieryne…I…please…_please…_”

A deep jolt of pleasure shook her to hear his desperate plea, and she leaned forward to capture the rest of his shuddering breath in a crushing kiss, finally increasing her pace, moving to chase the release they both sought. Realizing the mercy he was granted, his fingers dug harder into her scales, bringing his hips up to meet her with unrelenting force, slamming her down onto him over and over.

The thrill of hearing him nearly shout her name as he tensed, feeling him pulse within her with his last deep thrust undid her as well, and her vision swam with light and color, leaving her unable to do anything but collapse on top of him as she shook, clenching around him.

It was a long while before either of them recovered from the aftershocks of the experience, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him. Some distant, primal part of her that still belonged to open skies and windswept grasslands, to the inexorable, passionate hunt of sun and moon, rumbled in the back of her mind, content and possessive.

_Mine._

The way his chest moved with his soft laugh, and the returned sentiment whispered into her hair told her she must’ve spoken it aloud without realizing it. She lifted her head to smile up at him, and he pulled her up to kiss her gently, before nuzzling into her neck.

“You are an absolute succubus.”

She laughed. “And what does that make you?”

“Completely enthralled.” He lifted her off of him with ease, scooping her up into his arms as he swung his legs over to stand up.

“Are you going to make a habit of manhandling me so, ser?” She wrapped her arms around his neck. There were worse fates she could think of, and quite honestly she wasn't sure her legs would have supported her at the moment.

“Let me consider…” He tapped his fingertips lightly against her side as her carried her to the adjoining room, where a large basin stood ready, awaiting only hot water and themselves. “Yes, yes, I think I shall. For now, though, I believe a bath and some form of sustenance is in order. It simply would not do to have either of us wasting away in the other’s arms, now would it?” He sat her on the edge of the basin and began drawing the water.

“And what shall we do if your…_guests_ have proved persistent enough to still linger below?”

“If they are brave enough to stand between you and your breakfast, my lady, may Halone welcome them to her hall with open arms.”

The sounds of laughter and splashing water drifted out into the other room, as the sunlight continued its slow crawl across the disheveled bedclothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was supposed to be mostly feels and fluff and sappy goodness, but these two are heckin' horny, and they threw all my plans out the window.
> 
> Also tfw you make up a random character because you can't remember if the canon House Borel steward had an actual name and don't have the chance to look it up...so now House Borel has at least two staff members. Huzzah!


	4. Alpine Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluffy scene that would not leave me alone until I got it out.
> 
> There are perks to having a master weaver and goldsmith take a personal interest in your wardrobe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have a set idea for when this moment occurs in the storyline, but I imagine it's sometime in the lull between Heavensward and Stormblood. Feel free to headcanon it where you will.

Normally the sound of her laughter was something he relished, would have given the world to hear, to be the source of her joy.

At the moment, however, Aymeric simply arched a brow at her as she threw him another glance, then hid her face in the bedclothes, dissolving into yet another fit of giggles.

Eventually she regained some semblance of composure, though she still gasped for breath, peeking over the top of the blankets at him again.

“I…I am so…so sorry, love…I just…I cannot…what _is_ that?”

“_It_ is perfectly normally attire. The same you have beheld on any number of Ishgardian nobles on countless other occasions.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why you find it so amusing now, I cannot begin to fathom.”

“But…_you_ wearing it? Where in the gods’ names is your armor?” She moved to lay on her stomach, propping her chin up on one hand, letting her other arm dangle off of the bed.

“As I have mentioned in the past, dearest, I do not live in my armor,” he huffed. “It would hardly be appropriate to wear it into the Assembly. ‘Tis a place of law and governance, not war.” He sat on the edge of the bed next to her, poking the tip of her nose lightly. “Had someone accompanied me to dinner as I once asked of her, she would have seen me so clothed then as well.”

She gave him a wry grin. “I am starting to be grateful that I did not. I do not think I would have managed to eat a single bite, with you looking…like _that_.” She stifled another bout of laughter, her shoulders shaking slightly with the effort. “Traditions aside…I fear that look does not suit you, love.”

The words stung even though he knew there was no malice behind them; they echoed of past wounds he had yet to completely put aside.

“You…would not be the first to say as much.” He tried to keep his tone light, to match her teasing, but the sudden halt to her amusement, and the fiery flash in her eyes told him more of his bitterness shone through than he would have liked.

She rose to her knees, wrapping her arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss his ear.

“Forgive me, I did not mean…” Her voice dropped to a low, impassioned whisper. “You could walk among them in nothing more than what the Twelve graced you with at birth, and you would still be more noble than all of them put together.”

He covered her hands with his own, leaning back against her a little, chuckling. “’Twould most certainly cause quite a stir if I did.”

“As if they did not have enough to envy you for already.” He felt her lips, warm on the back of his neck before she let her chin rest on his shoulder. “I speak in earnest, though…they should be the ones striving to meet _your_ standards.”

He turned just enough to kiss her, the sting in his soul all but forgotten. She met him enthusiastically, and soon enough he was all too aware that she was still completely unclothed. He pulled away with great difficultly, sighing heavily.

“If your aim is to make me stay, dearest, you are being extremely convincing.”

“You started it,” she laughed, and his heart lightened considerably. She gave him a playful shove towards the door. “Go…the sooner you are done, the sooner you can come back, and I can tear all of that off of you.”

She was gone when he returned to his chambers, late into the evening, but he was not altogether surprised. Rare were the days that passed without some demands on her time.

What was strange, however, was the neatly wrapped package on the edge of the bed, with no note or other indication of the contents. He opened it carefully, raising an eyebrow and smiling at the rich fabric that met his fingers. Nothing overly ostentatious, but clearly of fine quality, and the craftsmanship on each piece was nothing short of remarkable. The last item threw him off a bit, but the rest was clearly intended as a follow-up from their conversation that morning.

_Surely she could not have done this all in one day…_

He shook his head, laughing at himself. This was Vieryne, after all; nothing was impossible.

Curiosity got the better of him, as tired as he was, and he shed his formal attire, slipping into the new garments. He glanced at himself in the mirror, and was struck for a moment by the sight; a more elegant cut on his lean form, still incorporating many elements that made it recognizable as a mark of Ishgardian nobility, all done in the blue of House Borel, with black and gold accents that reminded him of his armor.

He certainly felt more relaxed than he ever had wearing all the traditional trappings of nobility. Perhaps he would set a new standard after all.

“Oh, I am _good._”

He turned slightly, meeting her smile as she leaned against the doorway, eyeing him approvingly. Her own clothes were a bit disheveled, with a few tell-tale traces of whatever adventure from which she was no doubt returning.

“Who knew having such _intimate_ knowledge of your measurements would be so fortuitous?” She moved to wrap her arms around him, eyes shining. “What do you think?”

“’Tis a most welcome gift…though I must ask; were you perhaps planning on encouraging me to make a bid for the throne, my lady?” He held the last item from the package up, the blue gems set in the elegant golden circlet sparkling in the firelight. Her cheeks darkened slightly.

“Twelve forfend, ‘tis hard enough to get you alone as it stands.” She glanced up at him with an uncharacteristically shy smile. “That part is…just for my benefit, if you will.”

He chuckled, slipping it over his brow, watching as her lips parted slightly, her eyes widening as he secured it, his bangs falling over the front. “As my lady wishes.”

She leaned up, pulling him down into an eager kiss. When they came up for air, she pulled at the fastenings of the coat.

“As amazing as you look, love…I still intend to have it all off of you. Slower, though, perhaps.” She moved back to the door, glancing back over her shoulder at him as she pushed it closed and secured the bolt.

“And leave the crown on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so...who else could not stop snickering like an idiot during the 'Promises Kept' cutscene, show of hands.
> 
> No? Just me?
> 
> I appreciate all the work that goes into designing the characters and their outfits, but...putting a bulky coat on a slender man, and then matching it with very tight pants and boots...just makes him look like he's skipped *all* the leg days. Aymeric looked so ridiculous I could not stop laughing. If they were going to take the man out of his armor, for goodness sake, there had to be better options.
> 
> I rewatched the cutscene the other day for plot-recalling purposes, and hence the inspiration for this bit was born.
> 
> For reference, the outfit I'm imagining for him at the end is based on this amazing glamour, all due credit to the creator: https://ffxiv.eorzeacollection.com/glamour/12033/ishgardian-nobleman
> 
> The best part is that it's made for a Paladin, which I personally envision Aymeric as (he's got the invisible shield glamour on, change my mind), and all the pieces are conceivable obtainable between Heavensward and Stormblood. Maybe that's the adventure she was on all day...


	5. Let it Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now it's time for a breakdown.
> 
> Minor warnings for light (mostly abstract) descriptions of wounds, possibly unhealthy coping methods, and a heaping dose of survivor's guilt.
> 
> Also Stormblood spoilers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me:  
Brain: Hey, you know what goes well with smut? Emotional trauma!  
Me: What? No.  
Brain: *hands over completed scene* Too late~!
> 
> We're dipping our toes into that Angst and Hurt/Comfort tag this time, because I can't leave well enough alone, apparently.
> 
> Title not ripped from the game this time, but instead from "Walk Through the Fire" from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, because I'm weird like that.

Reverberations linger long after the sounds have faded, source of the vibrations out of sight but not mind. Remaining like phantoms, just present enough to be pervasive, muddling the new ones that follow.

_Pathetic._

Is this what they mean when they talk about ‘ringing’ in their ears?

Somehow it bleeds color out of the world, drains away feeling. Every sensation a ghost of itself, something to be questioned. The rough ground, the sticky crimson spatter, the acrid scent of smoke, the lancing pain with each breath; is any of it real?

Aether washes over, closing the gaps in bone and skin left by shockwaves of steel, too deep to reach all the way. There will be stitches and bandages, as always. There will be scars, they say.

There will be more than they know.

No time to dwell; there never is. Other wounds to mend, hearts to soothe. Broken forms bled of aether to collect, tokens clutched tightly that must be prised free, returned to those that would wash them with bitter tears.

Arrangements to be made, talking to be done. Always so much talking. It all blurs together, overlapping ripples, a pond broken by too many raindrops. Impossible to focus on any one point. Spirits broken, rekindled, reforged. Press on to the next step, the next battlefield. Keep going.

Forward momentum equals life, equals hope.

_Pathetic._

Doesn’t it?

****

“Lyse!”

The young monk hurried over to the table, shifting nimbly through the crowd of the Mizzenmast. Alisaie furrowed her brow, trying to look past her.

“Where is Vieryne?”

“She’s not here already?” Lyse looked genuinely surprised. “We teleported from Mor Dhona at the same time, but when she wasn’t at the Aetheryte, I thought maybe she arrived before me somehow. She usually does...”

The twins exchanged a troubled glance.

“We do have ‘til the morrow before the captain will be prepared to leave,” Alphinaud spoke carefully, trying not to betray his growing unease. “Perhaps she felt there were other preparations she needed to see to…did she say aught of it while you were at the Rising Stones?”

Lyse shook her head. “No, not a word. Come to think of it, she hasn’t said much at all, outside of when we were talking to the Domans, not since…since…” Her fists clenched as she looked down at the table.

“…since yesterday,” Alisaie finished quietly. “Her demeanor after the battle was unusually subdued.”

“The wound she took was quite serious. Were it not for the Blessing of Light, I daresay she would be in much the same condition as Y’shtola right now.” Alphinaud frowned, leaning back and crossing his arms. “’Tis no small wonder that she would be affected by it still.”

“You don’t think…” Lyse’s eyes went wide. “What if she didn’t have the strength to teleport all the way back? Seven hells, I didn’t even think to ask her if she felt up for another so quickly after the first few…”

Alisaie shook her head. “The Warrior of Light is more resilient than the rest of our number combined. ‘Tis more likely she chose a different destination of her own accord.”

“True, but…where would she go?”

They fell silent for a moment, pondering Alphinaud’s question. Alisaie stood up decisively, putting her hands on the table.

“Right. You two stay here, in case she comes back. I will seek out Tataru; if I recall correctly, she still has a linkpearl or two with contacts in Ishgard.”

“Ishgard?” Alphinaud blinked. “What makes you think she would go there?”

Both women stared at him for a long, uncomfortable moment, then Alisaie scoffed, though her tone still held an edge of fondness.

“My brother, everyone.” She strode off through the crowd, moving with purpose. Alphinaud eyed Lyse askance.

“I have missed something, it would seem.”

She flushed a little, plopping down in Alisaie’s abandoned chair. “Just a little.” She plucked at her gloves, staring off into the crowd without really seeing them. “…what if she’s not there?”

He leaned back again, putting on his best comforting smile.

“We do what we always do for her…we have faith.”

****

Cold. Bitter, stinging cold.

That was as it should be. The dead had no need of warmth.

And yet those distant flickers of light called, taunting with the promise of it, closer every time they sparkled through the blinding white. Impossible to deny the pull, inexorably drawing nearer with every faint heartbeat.

The dead had no need of warmth, but mayhap they craved it all the same.

_Pathetic_.

****

Aymeric did not look up at the sound of the door to his personal office opening, brow furrowed, intent on scanning over the report for what must have been the hundredth time that day. The soft footsteps no doubt belonged to the steward or another member of his staff, come to try yet again to convince him to cease his efforts long enough to eat or rest.

Lucia and Handeloup had all but chased him from the Congregation bells ago, claiming he was setting the entirety of the place on edge with his pacing and frustrated barking of orders. Honestly, the only thing that had stopped him from tearing through the Gates of Judgement the moment they’d received word that the Warrior of Light was _missing_ was the fact that the blizzard currently raging in the Highlands rendered such a journey nigh unto suicide. And, as Lucia had so pragmatically pointed out, her command of aetheryte travel far exceeded any of theirs; even caught out in the storm, she would have but to will herself to the safety of Ishgard, and he would not want to be absent when she did.

But as time dragged on with no word, no reports from the outposts or from the Scions, he could not help but feel the icy fingers of fear spreading through him. He’d pored over the report from the attack on Rhalgar’s Reach again and again, trying to find something he’d missed, something that might tell him what she was thinking, where she might have gone. A futile effort, but it was better than doing nothing.

At the next bell, he resolved. Storm be damned, if there was no word by then he was going to go find her himself.

The footsteps paused, and he suppressed a sigh.

“I do not-”

He choked on the rest of his words as he lifted his gaze to meet the fiery eyes of the subject of all his worries.

Snow still clung to her clothes and sparkled in the dampness of her hair, and in the split second before he damned near vaulted over his desk, he could see the open slash in the front of her coat, the tell-tale hint of bandages stained with dark red-brown underneath. He wrapped her in his arms, hissing softly against the chill that soaked through his clothes. By the Fury, she was absolutely _freezing_, far more so than should have been possible in the walk from the Aetheryte to House Borel.

After a long moment, he felt her return the embrace, her fingers digging into the back of his tunic and her head resting against his chest. A thousand words and questions came to mind, but in the end he simply whispered into her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

“You are alive…thank the Fury.”

Were it not for the keen hearing that blessed the Elezen race, he might have missed her murmured response, barely even a whisper.

_Am I?_

He pulled back, hands on her shoulders, but before he could say anything more, she tugged him down, pressing her lips to his, urging them to part with her tongue as she clutched at his shoulders. There was a strange, desperate edge to it that surprised him, even as he responded eagerly, pouring all his tension from the day into it, running his hands over her, trying to grant her whatever relief she sought. His body roused quickly, hardly needing a reminder that it had been far too long since he’d held her; he’d lost track of the exact number of days or weeks since the events at the Wall, since she’d left with the Scions to aid in the liberation of Ala Mhigo. She was notoriously bad at keeping up with correspondence, and for the most part the only word he’d had of her came through the Scions’ reports to the Alliance.

The feel of the desk hitting the back of his legs was his first realization that she’d been pushing him backwards as they kissed, and he was forced to sit on the edge of it to keep from losing his balance. She was in his lap almost immediately, wrapping her legs around him, and it was all he could do not to moan into her mouth, instead turning to lavish attention on her neck, pushing the collar of her coat away to caress the skin and scales with his lips and tongue.

She arched against him, her hands moving frantically over his chest, grasping for the hem of his tunic. He hissed softly as her fingertips found his skin underneath, feeling like ice, sending a shiver through him. How in the hells she’d gotten so cold was something that he would have to pursue later, though; the feel of her hips rolling against his banished all rational thought, and this time he did moan, soft and hungry, her urgency feeding into his own.

Pushing her skirt up to run his hands over her thighs, slipping between them, he found the one place where she was still warm, rubbing through her smallclothes. She jerked her hips forward and cried out, resting her head on his shoulder as he continued to stroke her, feeling the cloth grow damp.

She growled something incoherent and fumbled with the lacing on his pants, pushing downwards. It was a bit awkward from the position they were in, but she was of single-minded purpose, and soon had them pushed down enough to free his arousal. He had just enough thought to be vaguely grateful he’d removed his armor earlier in the day before she took him in hand, and the combination of her touch and the chill had his hips thrusting mindlessly up towards her.

He couldn’t say for certain which one of them pushed her smallclothes aside, whether she sank onto him or he pushed up into her first, but none of that mattered as they moved together, finding a frantic rhythm, chasing release as if their lives depended on it.

Burying his face against her shoulder, he tried to focus on the scent and the sound of her rather than the feeling of her core, fighting to hold on longer. It did him little good, but by the Fury’s mercy she was already tightening around him, her nails digging into his shoulders, a strangled whimper forcing its way free as she bit down hard on her lip. She whispered his name once as she shuddered around him, and that was all the provocation he needed to let go, pulsing inside her with his last few clumsy thrusts, having to grab the edge of the desk with one hand to keep from falling over, his vision swimming.

He kept one arm around her waist, and they stayed pressed together, panting for breath, until he slowly became aware of the subtle shaking of her shoulders. Leaning back, his heart froze in the icy grip of fear as he saw the firelight glint off of her cheeks.

_She was crying_. And there was nothing about her expression that made him believe it had anything to do with joy.

He gently caressed the side of her face, sweeping a few tears away with his thumb, and she took a deep, shaky breath between her quiet sobs.

“Alive…I am alive.” She whispered it over and over again, still clutching at his shoulders, as if the repetition could convince her of the truth.

“Alive and safe,” he affirmed, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I should not be.”

The vehemence of the response gave him pause, but he was suddenly reminded that this was hardly the _position_ for such a conversation as she had to shift her legs to maintain her place on his lap. Easing her slowly to the floor, he righted his clothes swiftly, and then swept her up in his arms.

She did not protest or tease him about his concern as he carried her to his chambers, nor did she resist when he removed the battle-torn and stained clothes from her body, and it was her silence, her _passivity_ that tightened his chest with fear even more than the bandages wrapped across her torso.

Determined to remove the last of the chill that still clung to her even after their exertions, he wrapped her in his arms, and a blanket around them both, sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. She was no longer actively crying, but the wet tracks of her tears remained, and he set about kissing them gently away as he leaned her back against his chest.

“My love…I would fain banish whatever specter troubles you. I heard of the battle, but ‘tis plain there is more to that tale than what was told.”

“Battle?” she echoed softly. “’Twas not a battle…more like a godsdamned massacre.” She fell silent again for a long time, and he just held her, unsure of how to continue. Finally, she sighed heavily.

“I should not have survived…had the blessing of Light not broken his blade…I would not have.” Her fingers brushed the edges of the bandages for a moment. “But I did…and now we go to Doma. They think they can weaken him by drawing the fight to another front. That somehow it will get us around the problem…but that is only troops, strategy. It will not…I can feel it, inevitable as a gathering storm on the horizon. I will have to face him again.” Her voice was shaking, and she buried her face in her hands.

“And I will _lose_. Again.”

“Vieryne…” He moved her hands away, turning her face to look at him, but she shook her head violently.

“Do _not_,” she snarled. “Do not tell me I have the strength…that you have faith. You were not _there,_ you could not know…” Her voice broke as the tears began to flow again. “I live only because I was _nothing_ to him. He did not bother to finish me off, not because he is a fool or he had no time or any of that nonsense…he just…_Did. Not. Care_. I am no threat…but they will follow me still, because they _believe_ in me.” She nearly spat the words, trembling, digging her fingers into her palms so hard her knuckles were going white. “It will get them all _killed_, just like…and I…I cannot…” She collapsed forward, weeping openly again.

He turned her in his arms, letting her bury her face in his chest, clutching the front of his tunic as the sobs wracked her body, seeming unbearably small and fragile in his embrace. Her horns dug into him, stabbing through the cloth, and he winced but kept her close all the same. It made his heart ache, that for all his supposed skill with words, in a moment like this he had none to comfort her.

“…tell me to stay.” She looked up at him, struggling against her own hoarse breath to force the words out. “Tell me not to go, to leave this fight behind, and I will say yes.” There was a manic sort of light in her eyes, a fevered look of desperate hope that lanced straight through him.

He leaned down to kiss her softly, stroking her hair. Had he not idly dreamed of doing just that, in the few quiet moments between his various duties? Imagined the halls no longer empty, but filled with her warmth, mayhaps with a family of their own?

But had he not also dismissed them as the fantasies they were, having thought them through to their conclusion?

“Nay,” he murmured against her lips before pulling back. “Even were such a request made in earnest, my love, I will not. How long could you stay, truly, before the rancor of inaction and resentment drove you away? ‘Tis not in your nature to be merely an observer, dearest.”

She bowed her head. “I just…I am so very _tired_ of losing people…of having pieces of my heart torn off…”

“As it tears at mine to know that so much has been asked of you, and to know there will be more still to come.” He closed his eyes, tightening his embrace around her for a moment. “But you are still mortal, love. No one expects you to be otherwise. Those that journey with you do so because they believe in their cause…and they are willing to make the necessary sacrifices to see it through. That they have grown to love you, to _be_ loved by you along the way just makes them all the stronger.”

Silence reigned again for a long while before he heard her whisper, though it seemed less directed at him, perhaps more of a reminder to herself.

“_The path you’ve chosen is paved with the dead._”

She offered no further explanation, and he pressed for none. Eventually he felt her breathing even out, her fingers loosening their grip on his shirt as sleep took her, most likely for the first time in several days, knowing her.

He managed to move her to the bed without waking her, and she settled into the comfort of his blankets with the slightest of sighs. Leaning over her for a long moment, stroking her hair, he could not help the tears of his own that escaped him. The old, bitter truths were no less bitter for having been aired, and they stung him just as harshly as they had when he’d first come to realize them.

_She cannot stay, and I cannot go._

He stepped out into the hall for a moment, activating his linkpearl.

“Lucia. Yes, I am aware. Contact the Scions…she is safe. No, just…tell them she will rejoin them soon.”

The dull ache that spread through him as his fist slammed into the wall did little to distract from the one in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the first encounter with Zenos to be an interesting point in the MSQ, mostly because it seemed to me like the first time the Warrior of Light just straight up *loses* a fight...they didn't choose to retreat, no one swooped in and interrupted or chased anyone off, they chose to stand their ground, and they get *wrecked* by an opponent who doesn't just tell them they don't matter...he *actually* doesn't think they matter (at least not until later when he starts in with the serious creep factor). And for someone that's been built up over and over again to be this powerhouse of a fighter up to that point, it seems like that would be more than just a little punch to their pride, as they play it off in the cutscene (which is understandable, given the confines of the game). Combine that will all the other emotional baggage our Warrior has been piling up, and...kaboom.
> 
> Didn't have time to do my usual multiple rereads through this, so if there's any glaring mistakes, please feel free to point them out. ;w;


	6. Flashes in the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As flashes of lightning illuminating a stormy night, a collection of moments from the journey through Stormblood.
> 
> Okay, so really it's more one separate moment and then a series of connected moments from the very end of the expansion. >.>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write a lot more for Stormblood, I really was. Vieryne being a Xaela, and having a storied history with the Steppe. Like I really want to show there's more to this character than smut...but I keep stalling out.
> 
> So I'm throwing my hands in the air, and just plopping what I have down here so I can move on to stuff between Stormblood and Shadowbringers, which honestly is where all the juicy plot bits are, heh.

The grass was soft and cool against her back as she flopped down, stretching her arms over her head. The trees spread dark shadows across the stars above her, swaying gently in the warm breeze.

Alphinaud would have a fit if he knew she was out here, letting her guard down like this, when they’d encountered the disguised Imperial patrols so close by just bells ago, but the air of the caverns was stifling. Her restlessness called her to see the sky and feel the wind; the one thing she had found in Othard that felt familiar. It may have been the place of her birth, but it certainly wasn’t home.

One more dawn, she promised herself. One more battle. If the day ended in victory, the next time she saw the stars, it would be from the deck of a ship, bound for Eorzea. It would not be the end of their struggles, of course, but a moment’s respite, the eye of the storm. She would take whatever she could get, however brief it might be.

Strange then, that the prospect of the rest of the night passing quietly irked her. She wholeheartedly agreed with Alisaie; the waiting before the battle was the hardest part. Too much time to let her thoughts wander to places she’d rather stay away from.

_Endure. Survive. Live._

Her lips curled into a snarl. Like there, for example. Ghastly blue eyes drifted in the back of her mind, their cold, rapt interest making her shudder all over again, wanting to crawl out of her own skin. Their first encounter had been bad enough; now that he seemed to have some bizarre, twisted fascination with her, she wished she could go back to him just not caring. This was decidedly worse.

_For the sole pleasure left to me in this empty, ephemeral world- live!_

_Not for you_, her thoughts growled. _Never for you_. She shoved the memories away vehemently. He deserved no place in her mind, and she wouldn’t give him one.

Part of her was almost sorry she hadn’t been interested in Hien’s half-drunk, half-joking offer to make sure she was exhausted enough to get some sleep. She had playfully rebuffed him using the same words she had thrown with decidedly less affection in Magnai’s face some days before; this Nhaama already had an Azim.

But her sun was half a world away, and she felt all the colder for it.

*****

Aymeric had always been praised as a patient man.

True, he did not hesitate to act when the moment called for it, be it with actions or words, but he had long outgrown his days of impulsive foolishness.

No, the Lord Commander of Ishgard knew when to be still, when to watch and wait.

Even when she appeared at the war council’s table, only ilms from his side, he had waited. His first sight of her since a dawn that felt like ages ago, reluctantly leaving his arms for a distant land, wounds closed but all too fresh. He wanted nothing more in all the world than to hold her again. But they no more than exchanged longing glances, the smallest of regretful smiles, the lightest brush of fingertips; the battle was nearly upon them, and their paths would again diverge in the course of their duties. It was not the time.

When the Scions appeared on the bridge before the main gates, breathless but victorious thus far in their role, he had waited. Even as he lied to himself about the tightness in his chest, the slight twinge at seeing her embrace the Doman lord after his impressive triumph over the Garlean air support, he had waited. Another stolen look, a smile that melted his tension in an instant. The battered and bent gates of Ala Mhigo awaited, open. It was still not the time.

The Alliance leadership had almost gained the entry to the Royal Menagerie when the horn sounded. Stances relaxed, weapons were sheathed. The quick but cautious pace of expected combat slowed to a more casual stride, and by the time he followed the other leaders into the sunlight, his every nerve was alight.

Each measured step stretched out the seconds unbearably. And when the others paused, a mutual agreement to wait for the heroes of the hour to come to them, he could have screamed.

It was quite the varied procession that rounded the corner of the garden path, but to his eyes, she may as well have been alone, a brilliant flame that blinded and beckoned.

His feet were moving before he could have even thought about stopping himself. Vaguely he registered a bemused snort from behind him as he broke into a run; Merlwyb, no doubt. Still everything seemed to move too slowly, and for a brief, terrifying moment it felt as if the world would stop before he reached her.

Time caught up to him in a rush as his arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground. His momentum forced those behind her to sidestep quickly lest they be knocked off their feet as he spun them both around before finally coming to a halt, burying his face against her neck and closing his eyes. As usual, she smelled of spices he couldn’t begin to name, and he breathed in deeply, the welcome warmth of her scales radiating against his skin. He was probably squeezing her far too tightly, but she had no protests, only soft laughter as she returned his embrace with equal fervor, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips.

He could have stayed just like that for the rest of his days, but her patience seemed to have fared no better than his; she tugged his head back after only a few moments and stole his breath with her hungry mouth upon his. Her tongue pressed forward insistently to taste him, and he was only too eager to oblige, relishing the silent declaration of their mutual desperation.

The sudden swell of voices raised in song startled them apart. Vieryne glanced over at the gathering of leaders and heroes at the edge of the parapet, then slid her eyes back to his face with a small grimace.

_We should probably be part of that. _She said nothing aloud, but he could see the weight of obligation in her eyes and in the way her shoulders fell slightly.

It would be the proper thing, for the Warrior of Light and the Lord Commander of Ishgard to make an appearance.

Aymeric had no patience left for propriety.

*****

The last notes of Ala Mhigo’s triumphant anthem having long since faded, Lyse turned from beaming praise down upon the last of the soldiers who had flocked around her. At the edge of the crowd, she could just make out Hien’s vibrant robes, the Doman lord standing slightly aside from the throng. Alphinaud stood before him, speaking of something or other, but Hien only nodded absently in response, his gaze sweeping over the gathered forces, searching.

It took a moment to ease her way through the press of bodies, and he hardly seemed to notice when she stepped up beside him during a pause in the one-sided conversation.

“You won’t find her here, you know.”

Hien blinked, uncrossing his arms. “I was not…” A glance down at her knowing smile, and he seemed to reconsider his denial. “…I had suspected as much.” The corner of his mouth tugged up in a slight smirk, though no amusement touched his eyes. “The khagan’s Azim, after all.”

Before she could think of anything to say, he lit up with a too-bright smile, clapping his hands together. “Well! I think it is high time I became acquainted with more of Doma’s fine new allies.” He bowed quickly to them both and stepped forward to lose himself in the crowd.

Alphinaud sighed softly and shook his head. “The ones that are here to _be_ acquainted with.”

“Time enough for that in meetings and councils.” Lyse grimaced slightly. “Of which I’m certain there will be many. Let her have a moment of rest. She more than deserves it.”

He gave a dry laugh. “Even _I_ am well aware there will be no _resting_, wherever she is.”

“Alphinaud!”

*****

What was the purpose, she wondered absently, of ceilings that were so damned _tall_? The arches overhead faded into the gloom, and she could barely make out some sort of patterned carving on the stone as she leaned her head back against the ornate tiled wall.

Vieryne didn’t have the slightest notion what room they were in, if it was even a room at that; it could have just been another fancy corridor. The architects responsible for this sprawling display of grandeur had absolutely no sense of pragmatism. Not that she really cared one way or the other at this particular moment.

Aymeric dropped his forehead to her shoulder, the ardent heat of his breath coming in short gasps. The dim light glittered in the small beads of sweat on the back of his neck, like diamonds against his flushed skin. Unwilling to disrupt such resplendence, she fisted her fingers into his hair instead, pulling the soft locks just hard enough to earn her a low, throaty moan. His fingers dug into her left thigh and curled against wall near her head where he braced himself as he rolled his hips again.

The exquisite spark, like levin in her blood as he moved within, the friction against scale and skin, the strength that kept her back pinned against the cool tiles; it was all too much and somehow not enough. She needed _more_, _faster_, _harder_, and yet she was grateful for his slow, deliberate pace, sending waves of ecstasy rippling outward from her core, building upon one another by degrees. Her legs wrapped tightly around him, she let her tail twine lazily around his leg, enjoying the way the firm muscles twitched under the cool caress of the scales.

Another deep, forceful thrust had her failing to stave off a moan of her own, pulling at his hair again, her thighs tensing around him. He murmured tender praise against her skin, kissing his way up from her shoulder to her jawline.

“I have missed your voice so…” Another sharp roll of his hips, and she dropped any attempt at keeping quiet, though as breathless as she was, her wanton serenade was unlikely to reach very far.

Far enough to inspire her lover to even greater heights, it seemed, and that was everything she could want. He brought his other hand down to her hip, lifting her up just slightly, allowing him to hilt within even deeper than before. His pace was remained steady and unhurried, but the changed angle brought more intensity; the waves were still rolling, but now she was swept under, drowning in them, and she welcomed the pressure that pushed her down into bliss.

Her release was like a sharp spike of molten energy, cutting through oblivion, snapping her back to reality; still bereft of breath, she managed only a soft, contented sigh as she shuddered around him.

His eyes, even more lovely shadowed by lust, widened slightly as he watched her face with something akin to wonder. The steady rhythm stuttered slightly, and she felt him tense, pressing her even harder against the wall as he groaned softly, his thrusts growing more erratic as she felt his warmth spilling inside her.

After a long moment of trembling silence, their movements finally stilled, and he gently lifted her away from the wall, turning and sinking down with his back against it, never letting her slip even an ilm away from him. A tender kiss on his temple had him chuckling softly, brushing the curtain of her hair back from her face.

“Welcome home.”

She blinked at him several times before the laughter bubbled out, and it was a good few moments before she could speak.

“More than half a bell into ravaging each other, and _now_ he extends a greeting.”

He smiled, a sparkle in his eyes. “Perhaps next time I shall start with this, if my lady finds it more agreeable.” He leaned forward, rubbing his cheekbone against her horn in a fashion that was startlingly familiar, though also wildly alien from a non-Auri. The vibrations resonated through her body, leaving her skin pebbled with goosebumps and her heart racing.

She stared at him in shock for so long his brow furrowed, a hint of worry eroding his confident smirk.

“Pray forgive me if I have mistaken-”

Cupping his face in her hands, she cut off the apology with her lips sealing over his, the swelling adoration in her soul too much to contain.

*****

All was peaceful as he padded through the halls; so far, none of the soldiers sent out to sweep the palace for any lingering Garlean forces had reported back with any findings, and his fortunes were looking to be equally favorable.

Glancing down one of the side passages, the Resistance soldier paused, tail swishing. Hand tightening around the hilt of his sword, he moved carefully towards the dark. This far into the palace, the natural lighting from the windows was no longer sufficient, but the lamps on the walls were unlit, probably extinguished in the chaos of the fighting.

He crept close to the object that had caught his attention, though his alarm turned to puzzlement as he regarded the wide-brimmed hat that lay haphazardly on the floor. It looked strangely familiar, though he couldn’t quite place where he might have seen it before. Peering into the gloom, he could swear there was something else not far ahead, rumpled blue cloth with a glint of gold.

His fingers had all but brushed the edge of the crimson hat when he froze, ears flicking forward. Inhaling deeply, tasting the air, the fur on the base of his tail stood on end as he listened carefully.

Was that…?

Swiftly he stood, backing down the hallway, returning to the route he’d been on. No, there were certainly no Garleans _that_ way.

Blushing furiously, he all but ran down the corridors back to his comrades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love the headcanon I have that Aymeric went out of his way to find Au Ra in Ishgard and ask them about displays of affection in their culture. And given that the one Au Ra I know for certain he would have found is everyone's favorite grumpy Dark Knight...one can only imagine how the hilarity ensues. xD
> 
> Ears are probably the closer anatomical equivalent to Au Ra horns, but it just didn't have the same effect for me, so we're going cheekbones. :3
> 
> *hugs Hien* Don't worry buddy, I've got a AU for you all lined up. :D


End file.
